All Our Scattered Leaves (part 6/6)
by Mercutio of Naboo
Summary: So here it is at last, the final part! Master Skywalker extricates himself from a mess of smugglers and finally returns home.


All Our Scattered Leaves  
*** *** ********* ******  
  
Part 6:  
  
"Get back into a doorway. I'll cover you!" Reeshto had his lightsaber in   
his hands, activating it as he spoke. The action drew fire from the   
smugglers and the rodian parried quickly but inexpertly. He jumped back   
as one blaster round caught him in the shoulder. A second took him in   
the leg as he tried to duck into the doorway.  
  
"I think we're in trouble!" 'Amazing perception, Reeshto, full marks for   
stating the obvious,' he added to himself.  
  
Old Man Lars appeared unperturbed. "You know, if you hadn't drawn a   
weapon they probably wouldn't have started shooting."  
  
Reeshto stared incredulously up at the old man. Here he was, risking his   
own ass to save some stupid half-senile old idiot who had blundered into   
this whole situation despite having been told to stay out of it in the   
first place, and he got a lecture in return!  
  
"You're hurt," old Lars continued gently. "It's maybe not the best time   
for a lesson. Here, let me help."  
  
The rodian continued to stare as the old man extended a hand. The rodian   
felt fingers lightly touch his face, and then a soft tingling like   
sunlight sensed through closed eyelids. The pain of the wounds seemed to   
become less important.  
  
The old man removed his hand, and turned slightly. The smugglers had   
surrounded the doorway, leaving no obvious way to escape. Despite this   
old Lars appeared perfectly at ease, looking at the collection of   
blasters pointed in his direction as if he were examining the exhibits   
in a museum.  
  
"May I borrow your lightsaber for a moment?"  
  
"What? Come on, granddad, I don't think even _I_ can take these guys."  
  
Old Man Lars lifted his eyebrows slightly. "No? Never mind, there's   
always another way." He bowed politely to the smuggler captain. "I   
suggest you put down your weapons and surrender, and then nobody will   
get hurt."  
  
Reeshto was expecting the burst of laughter this attracted from the   
smugglers. Old Man Lars greeted it with peaceful acceptance. "I'm sorry,   
I haven't done this for a while. I should have said, 'I suggest you put   
down your weapons and surrender, and none of _you_ will get hurt.'   
Still, if you insist on doing things the hard way..."  
  
The smugglers stopped laughing. Old Man Lars closed his eyes as the   
captain's finger tightened on the trigger. Reeshto gripped the handle of   
his lightsaber and tensed ready for action.  
  
Then the captain gave a cry of surprise as his blaster lifted out of his   
hands and hovered in the air. Exclamations came from the other smugglers   
as their weapons also rose into the air. The captain gave one futile   
lunge for his blaster, then gave up and glared at the rodian.  
  
"You! This is your damn Jedi tricks!"  
  
Reeshto tried not to show surprise. He was pretty certain that it wasn't   
him. He stared back at the captain, unsure whether to reply. Spotting   
his hesitation, the captain drew a vibroblade from his belt and jumped   
forwards. Before the rodian could block with his own blade, Old Man Lars   
made a slight gesture and the captain was thrown backwards, knocking   
down two of his own crew as he fell. The floating blasters spiralled down   
gently to settle in a heap at the old man's feet.  
  
"Could I borrow that lightsaber now?" Old Lars was smiling slightly as   
he held out his hand.  
  
Somewhat stunned at this turn of events, Reeshto slowly extended the   
handle of the lightsaber towards the old man. Old Lars examined the   
weapon with mild curiosity, apparently ignoring the smugglers.  
  
"Hmm. Did you make it yourself?" the old man asked.  
  
"It was my grandmother's" Reeshto answered, faintly. The smugglers had   
picked themselves up and seemed to be trying to decide whether to make a   
bid to reclaim their weapons.  
  
"She was the one who taught you to use it?" The old man activated the   
lightsaber as he spoke, making a few passes and feints to get a feel for   
its balance. His expression remained serene when Reeshto ducked   
apprehensively, but there was a little light of laughter dancing in his   
eyes. The smugglers eyed this new development with caution.  
  
"No-oh. Not exactly," Reeshto said. "She left a datapad and a couple of   
remotes. I've been training myself from those."  
  
"That would be why, then," the old man said to himself, nodding slightly   
and failing to explain himself any further. He turned to the smugglers,   
who obviously didn't know what to make of the situation. "I have no   
authority outside the Republic, so I can't stop you shipping dew through   
here in the future. I don't have anything in particular against   
smugglers, only against certain types of cargo and methods of operation.   
You have a living to make after all, and I understand that the taxes in   
this section of space are rather out of line. You did try to ask   
questions first and shoot afterwards, which says something for your   
character."  
  
Something caught Reeshto's attention. Something about what old Lars   
wasn't saying. Some other reason behind the old man's words. He wished   
he knew more of the Force, so he could pick up something of the old   
man's thoughts. His grandmother's notes had been very sketchy on that   
subject, though.  
  
"On the other hand, dew is unpleasant stuff," old Lars continued. "I   
really think you ought to choose your cargo better. Those vaccines sound   
much more suitable. Dew is also illegal on Bayashi, so I doubt you'll be   
reporting the loss of your current shipment."  
  
"What loss?" The smuggler captain's fingers flexed above his empty   
thigh-holster.  
  
"The one that will occur shortly." The old man's quiet words were heavy   
with inevitability. "By the way, I would suggest that you avoid New   
Republic space- for your own good."  
  
"You think you can stop us?" The captain's grasp of the situation was   
rapidly sliding away from him.  
  
Old Lars gently shook his head. "That line's been done before, and it   
doesn't fit very well anyway. I'm helping you here, you know. No, don't   
try to reach your weapon. Cybernetic limbs are very good, but I think   
you'd prefer to keep the original." By way of demonstration, the old man   
flicked the lightsaber tip past the barrel of a blaster pistol. The   
front of the barrel rolled across the floor, and the smugglers took a   
step back.  
  
"Erm, Lars?" Reeshto dragged his attention from the severed blaster back   
to the old man. "How do we actually get out of here? Without killing   
everybody, I mean. What's the plan?"  
  
"The plan?" Old Man Lars looked thoughtful for a moment. "Does there   
always have to be a plan? Trust the Force, and keep your mind on the   
here and now. What we need right now is some transport, I think.   
Captain, is your ship ready to go?"  
  
"What?" The smuggler captain was now entirely unsure who exactly here   
was insane. Clearly someone was.  
  
"This young Jedi and I will need a lift." The old man smiled sweetly.   
"As I was intending to make a delivery of your cargo into the nearest   
star anyway, we might as well combine the two."  
  
******  
  
Reeshto was never entirely clear about the events that followed. He   
remembered that Old Man Lars had been remarkably persuasive. The   
smugglers had confusedly given their agreement to the old man's request,   
bemused as the rodian about why they would want to do so. Old Lars had   
re-introduced himself as Master Luke Skywalker, a name so famous it had   
even reached Bayashi and one which Reeshto had difficulty connecting   
with the sad, half-crazy old man he remembered from the starport. At   
some point not long after that Reeshto had been saying goodbye to his   
parents, flushing an inane shade of blue at the thought of attending a   
Jedi Academy that he'd thought of as a fable only a few hours   
previously. Then he had been boarding a disreputable-looking freighter,   
taking one last look back over his shoulder at the planet that his   
grandmother had fled to a century before.  
  
******  
  
Reeshto's first space flight had its excitements, but it was not quite   
what he had imagined. The high point was the dumping of the cargo of   
dew, the Captain's face an absolute picture as he tried to work out just   
why it was that he was allowing it to happen.  
  
Most of the voyage was sheer hard work. He had thought himself fit, but   
Master Skywalker disagreed and set about proving the point. Reeshto was   
privately of the opinion that the Jedi Master was extracting revenge for   
some of those less-than-complimentary comments back in the warehouse.  
  
"Think yourself lucky, young Reeshto," Master Skywalker commented when   
Reeshto flopped onto a spare couch in the cockpit after yet another   
exhausting training session.  
  
"Lucky? I've got years more of this torture, and I'm lucky?"  
  
"My Master used to make me carry him on my back and run through a swamp   
every day."  
  
Reeshto stared up at the Master, who was twice his height and several   
times his weight. "You're joking... You're not joking, are you?"  
  
Master Skywalker just smiled.  
  
******  
  
Master Skywalker paused with his hand resting against the old Corellian   
freighter, eyes drawn to the dark smudge of blaster-burn just beneath   
his fingers. He leaned against the rusting hull, head drooping, the   
lines on his face deepening. The mark drew his thoughts away from the   
present, taking him to a point that lay years in his past, parsecs from   
the world he now stood on. Another time of day, sunlight slanting   
sideways through the lush green of a jungle. He had been laughing,   
joking, happy to be with friends, not expecting the fight that broke out   
nearby between a local gang and the offworlders whose 'negotiations'  
turned hostile. People had scattered, locals and crew from other ships  
running to avoid being caught in the crossfire.  
  
A blaster bolt seared across his mind's eye. He saw his own hand,   
reaching out, too slow to prevent what would happen. He saw the target   
leap away, exposing the man that stood behind- a man still lean and fit   
despite his grey hair and weathered features, but a man no longer in his   
prime, whose legendary reactions were no longer quite so reliable. He   
saw the twi'lek gunman duck from view, escaping in the confusion. If he   
could have stayed calm, perhaps he would have been better able to track   
the gunman down with the Force. If he had moved more quickly, perhaps he   
could have saved the life of the man who caught the blast.  
  
He had been too slow, too surprised, too shocked and angry to react at   
all. That shot had taken from him one of his closest friends. Friend,   
ally, confident and brother-in-law. Killed because he happened to be   
standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. Han Solo's luck had   
finally run out that day.  
  
Master Skywalker sighed, then straightened. He drew the Light around   
him, into his soul, smiling just a little. There was justice in the   
galaxy. Drangor had killed an old smuggler, only to be killed by   
a younger one. There had been no need to seek revenge- the Force had brought   
its own balance.  
  
An image flickered in his mind: of a young smuggler captain holding   
defiant self-interest up as a shield against the world, taking an interest  
in an old man and a boy despite his smuggler's instincts; a vision of   
adventure, danger, and love. Was it the past, or the future? Did it even   
matter? Things came full circle.  
  
"We're travelling on /that/?" Reeshto had thought the smuggler's craft   
was rough, but the ancient hulk he was now looking at beat it hands   
down. The voice tugged Master Skywalker's thoughts back to the present.   
  
"What's wrong with her?" the Jedi Master sounded almost offended.  
  
"It looks ready to fall apart!"  
  
"Appearance isn't everything," Master Skywalker said, giving the hull an   
affectionate pat as he headed up the ramp and on into the cockpit. "This   
lady is a hero. She's saved my life more than once. Give her a little   
respect now she's retired. Besides," he added as he settled himself into   
the pilot's couch and fingered the controls, "she's /still/ the fastest   
heap of bolts ever to make the Kessel Run. Strap yourself in, kid. We're   
going home."  
  
Reeshto looked at the grin now spreading across the Jedi Master's face,   
and strapped himself in- tightly.  
  
******  
  
  
Epilogue  
********  
  
Master Anakin Solo faced his uncle in the privacy of his office, and   
took a calming breath. He wasn't looking forward to what he had to say,   
but it had to be said, and it was absurd to feel like an undignified kid   
rather than a member of the Jedi Council simply because of who it was he   
had to speak to.  
  
"Master, I don't want to sound impertinent, but I think you owe everyone   
an explanation. You went off alone, without warning, without telling   
anyone where you were going or how to get in touch, and without even   
calling to say that you were alright. We worried about you. Think what   
it did for morale, to have the Master simply vanish. Think how it made   
the Jedi look, when we couldn't find you. If you were anyone but who you   
are, I ought to tear strips off you!"  
  
Master Skywalker remained serene. "I needed some time to meditate."  
  
"Five _years_?"  
  
"It might have been five days, or five centuries. It was long enough.   
When the time was right, I came home. When it is your time, you will   
understand."  
  
"Understand a need to be alone? You could have-"  
  
"No. Understand that all of this-" Master Skywalker waved a hand to  
take in the Temple, the city beyond, the skies and the universe- "is   
only a faint reflection of reality." He looked at his nephew with an   
expression which was both solemn and mischievous. "'Luminous beings are   
we.' The physical body is only a fragile barrier between the Force and   
what we call the universe. When you understand, you will know how to   
brush that barrier aside and become one with the Light."  
  
Anakin digested this for a few moments. His next words were slow and   
thoughtful. "You learned the way to... well, to disappear when you die,   
and come back as a spirit?"  
  
Master Skywalker laughed, something he had not done in years, and Anakin   
found himself smiling in response. "I suppose you could describe it that   
way. You'll understand, when it's your time. Walk with me a while,   
Anakin. I need to remind myself how others see and feel."  
  
They walked in silence for a time, pacing the cool corridors of the   
Temple, their arms about each other's shoulders. Their route took them   
out into the gardens, where they stopped and stood looking up at the   
stars."Reeshto can't be the only one, you know," Master Skywalker said,   
breaking the stillness. "Other Jedi would have escaped beyond the   
borders. I will search for them. It'll be something to keep me   
occupied."  
  
"Master!" Anakin began, and then changed it to "Uncle Luke. You're not   
thinking of going traipsing off across the galaxy into the back of   
beyond again?"  
  
"Why not? After all, I've never been one to sit back and do nothing. I   
ought to find them, Anakin, the families of all those Jedi who were   
scattered by the Empire. I'll find them... and then I'll bring them   
home."  
  
******  
  
'When one Man dies, one Chapter is not torne out of the booke, but   
translated into a better language; and every Chapter must so be   
translated; God emploies several translaters; some peeces are translated   
by age, some by sicknesse, some by warre, some by justice; but Gods hand   
is in every translation; and his hand shall binde up all our scattered   
leaves againe, for that Librarie where every booke shall lie open to one   
another.'  
  
MEDITATION XVII  
Devotions upon Emergent Occasions  
by John Donne  
  
-END-  



End file.
